Yaviesel
by Fomhar Fyre
Summary: Against the wishes of her father, Yaviesel leaves her home to follow a dream. She finds so much more then she could have possibly foreseen. Betrayal, anguish, adventure, and an unexpected love. A Journey behind the scenes of the War of the Ring.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer The majority of the characters are indeed the possession of the late great J.R.R. Tolkien, whose loss is still felt greatly in the world. I claim nothing but the character Yaviesel as my own and this is just a work of pleasure I gain nothing more from its words.  
  
Author's Note: Fellow fans, this is my first work in the world of Middle Earth, thusly please be kind to me. However remember that nothing-even words are permanent. If you see a mistake please aid me in kindly pointing it out to me, for I have no claim to the title "Tolkien Scholar"... Yet.  
  
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Prologue  
  
A lone figure sat beside the road known as the "greenway". His horse neighed a greeting at the sound of approaching hoof beats. The figure lifted his cowled head to peer at the approaching shadow. As the morning mists parted, recognition flared in the watching eyes. "Gandalf!" He cried to the rider.  
  
The gray-clad wizard pulled his horse to a stop before the brown-robed form that stood and approached the rider. Gandalf looked down upon the figure with puzzlement in his eyes until darkly tanned hands let down the brown hood. "Radagast! You old fool! What are you doing in this part of the world? The need must be dire indeed for you to take to traveling. Why did you not send a messenger to me?"  
  
Radagast had to stop a sigh at the mention of the word messenger. Cursing his need to hide what he truly was from even the wise one before him, he chose his next words with extreme care. "My news is evil." Then he looked about him, as if the hedges might have ears. "Nazgûl," he whispered. "The Nine are abroad again. They have crossed the River secretly and are moving westward. They have taken the guise of riders in black." Taking in the look of absolute dread on his old friends face he added, "Olórin, they seek the shire!"  
  
"Who told you, and who sent you? " Gandalf asked in a panic.  
  
' "Saruman the White," answered Radagast successfully hiding the distaste that name caused him. "And he told me to say that if you feel the need, he will help; but you must seek his aid at once, or it will be too late."  
  
' "I will go to Saruman," Gandalf said.  
  
' "Then you must go now," said Radagast; "for I have wasted time in looking for you, and the days are running short. I was told to find you before Midsummer, and that is now here. Even if you set out from this spot, you will hardly reach him before the Nine discover the land that they seek.  
  
"Stay a moment!" Gandalf said. "We shall need your help, and the help of all things that will give it. Send out messages to all the beasts and birds that are your friends. Tell them to bring news of anything that bears on this matter to Saruman and Gandalf. Let messages be sent to Orthanc."  
  
A flicker of sadness glimmered in Radagast's deep eyes. "I shall do this my brother," He told to Gandalf who had turned to mount his horse. Radagast's hand gave him pause. "Becareful my old friend. Things are never what they seem to be." Radagast allowed some of his true wit to spark in his eyes for a mere moment, but long enough to cause Gandalf to doubt what he previously thought about the diminutive figure in the homespun brown robe. Gandalf gave him an acknowledging nod and beckoned his horse into motion.  
  
Radagast the Brown watched as Gandolf sped off on the road to Isengard. "Forgive me my old friend. You will have all the aid I have to offer," he thought to himself as the rider disappeared over the hill towards the tower Orthanc. "Where can my beloved Yaviesel be?" 


	2. Chapter 1: The Escape

Chapter 1 The Escape  
  
Who was this gray one that came to talk to her captor? Fear kept her silent; fear of the one called himself Saruman the white. Yet the gray one's keen eyes spotted her huddled in her cage under the table and for a mere instant she thought she saw concern there. But, if it was there it was gone now as he held council with the one who caused her such endless pain. She watched helplessly as they moved from the room into his throne room. Tension filled the air, power crackled between the two figures as they stood off. The stranger in gray made an attempt to leave back through the door however it slammed shut before he could reach it. As the last glimpse of the room was shut before her eyes she saw the stranger flick his fingers in a strange pattern and she was freed with a sharp snapping of metal.  
  
The lock to her cage was broken. The chain bonding her in this dark prison was weak enough for her to break after some painful tugging. Yaviesel ran out of the cage, ignoring the searing pain of the iron tacks surrounding the inside of her collar sinking into the softness of her neck. Yet she paused at the top of the stairs, listening through the door to hear the sound of fierce combat inside. Looking down at her chest she could see small dark rivulets of blood contrasting with the soft white of her chest. Torn between trying to help the one who saved her and escaping this nightmare, she came to a hard conclusion. She could be of no help here to the one who released her.  
  
Sending a prayer to Valar for the stranger, she turned and sprinted down the long spiraling stone stairs only to trip over the dragging length of the iron chain still attached to her collar and tumble into a dazed ball of blood matted fur at the first landing. Above she could hear the echoes of the combat drifting down the stairs to her. Panicked thoughts of being caught filled her mind. Shaking the pain from her head she picked the dragging length of the chain in her teeth, hissing at the touch of the foul mettle in her tender mouth. With a last glance up the stairs she carefully hurried down the stairs. She burst through the opened door to run past the started guards who gave a shout. She ran for her freedom and her life down the long road and past the two somehow opened gates that led into the forest.  
  
The confused guards were unable to decide between staying at their commanded positions or following their instincts and taking chase after the creature when the birds were startled from the treetops as an outraged shout echoed through the vale of Isengard. The small form of a startled fox could be seen pausing at the edge of the forest, looking at the tower Orthanc, before dashing out of sight into the sheltering freedom of the trees.  
  
Yaviesel ran until her sides heaved, till the soft pads of her feet left bloody prints in her wake. She ran until she could stand the burning of the iron chain in her sensitive mouth no longer. She collapsed panting under a friendly looking old oak tree that seemed to look down on her with a startled amazement. Spitting the chain out, Yaviesel bit at the nearby soft grass desperate to get rid of the horrible taste of the iron. The pain that she had grown somewhat accustomed with in her captivity now came forth with a new sharpness. The constant burning of the sharp iron tacks that dug into her soft skin at her neck, the way her body ached from staying in one position for these past 4 months. Her new agonies joined with them to drown out all possible thought. Growing dizzy from the now unaccustomed exertion and the overwhelming pain, she slumped to the ground as a welcoming darkness rushed up to comfort her in its loving embrace. 


	3. Chapter 2: Awakening

A/N: Thank ye both for your kind reviews. ( Please note that Yaviesel is the main character however I do promise there will be a lot of Radagast, the Brown in the future. I also promise as the story proceeds there will be details filled in, such as how she came into Saruman's possession and why. I present to you now, the second chapter to my first attempt at Tolkien Fan Fiction.  
  
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Chapter 2 The Awakening  
  
Sound… sound seemed to surround her; the soft music of voices blending gently with the harmony of the wind that danced through the leaves. The murmur of running water played somewhere nearby, cooling the air. Gentle yet strong hands lifted her carefully. Her eyes tried to open to peer around her, to see who lifted her so, yet she could see not. Pain coursed through her weakened body causing a whimper to force its way out from her swollen throat. The voices soothed her. The hands pressed sweet cool water to her mouth just a little at a time, for her torn throat refused to allow much of the water past. The sweet water cooled and soothed her parched body.  
  
She felt herself being laid upon something that felt as soft as a dream to her. The hands moved to the iron that even now still tormented her, biting into the skin of her neck. The iron foiled their gentle yet painful attempts to remove its wickedness from her. Again the voices sounded around her, sounding more like the wind from a threatening storm. Yaviesel shivered at that sound, afraid for the first time in this waking dream. The hands held her still. then delicately poured the soothing water over the open wounds on her throat. At first the water soothed the burning itch that tormented her there, however an instant later. intense fire rushed up to fight the healing coolness of the water. Soon, though it felt like an eternity to her, the pain receded into almost near nothingness. Exhausted, she allowed the gentle melody of the voices to lull her back into the peaceful darkness.  
  
Yaviesel awoke to find herself strangely refreshed. The old familiar aches of her body seemed to have disappeared into nothingness. She stretched her limbs in hedonistic pleasure. She felt the hated pressure of the collar pressing into her neck. Hissing in pain, she sat up to relieve the pressure of the sadistic device. Soon the pain faded back into that endless itch that had become her existence. Sighing with many regrets, she opened her eyes to look warily at her surroundings. Her mouth opened with a yelp of surprise. She found herself in a place so utterly different from the expected cold iron cage within that horrid dark tower.  
  
Bright Valar! The sight of trees, oh the wonderful eaves of her homeland filled her seeking eyes. Sniffing, she took in the cool scents of the air, tasting the textures in her mouth her delight turned to confusion. She did not know this forest. Looking around more carefully she took in the details. This is most definitely not the dark Mirkwood her father had told her of in his stories. This was an ancient forest indeed. Soft green moss covered the forest floor, creeping up the bark of the sleeping giants that surrounded her. Multitudes of different lichens and fungi grew wherever they found a damp bit of bark or soil. Curling ferns and crawling ivy framed the majestic old trees in a perfect frame.  
  
No flower would dare bloom in this emerald forest, for its bloom would be put to shame by the intensity of the color surrounding it. The air was loud with the absence of sound. The only things that could be heard were the soft sighing of the wind through the high boughs of the trees and the murmuring stream nearby. The silence pressed oppressively down upon her heart, stilling the breath in her lungs. She was afraid to break the sacred silence of this ancient cathedral.  
  
Thoughts of home began to creep into her mind as she cautiously took in her altered surroundings. Why did she insist that she should go? Why had she refused to heed the warnings given to her? 'Adventure you wanted,' she scoffed to herself. 'All you got was pain, girl… pain and heartache.' Sighing, she shook her head and body, fluffing her dew-dampened fur out from her skin. She still had a message to get to Rivendell, though it was utterly late as it stood. One thing… where in middle-earth was she? 


	4. Chapter 3: The Journey Begins

Chapter 3 The Journey Begins  
  
  
  
Yaviesel looked at the deep forest around her as a wave of despair filled her with a nameless dread. How did she arrive here exactly? 'The dream?' she thought to herself, 'the dream was… real? ' A gentle cool breeze danced past her at that moment, ruffling the soft ruff of her cheek fur, and stirring the berry laden boughs of the slender moss covered rowan trees to join in the wind's dance with a soft applauding of laughter from their radiant leaves. She felt a soft touch on her trembling back, which caused her to spin around with a startled yelp. She looked up and chuckled at herself. All she could see were the exposed roots of a white-barked birch tree, whose trailing leaves grew in a tangle of wild lengths that were low enough to the forest floor to caress her small form in the dancing breeze.  
  
Shaking her head at her imagination she decided to follow the stream in the direction that it flowed. She was touched lightly again on her back. This time, however, something chuckled deeply behind her. Yaviesel paused in midstep. Her black tipped ears quickly swiveled backwards towards the sound, and her warm golden eyes grew wide in astonishment. She turned her head hesitantly to peer over her back at the shaking birch tree. Her eyes traced a path up the peeling white bark of the roots, up the trunk, past its eyes, and into its branches. 'Eyes?!' Her eyes locked with the amused emerald gaze of the laughing birch tree. Movement drew her gaze away from the laughing eyes to focus on a smooth white-barked hand waving at her. The fingers were elongated and ever so slender. Those hands looked as nimble as a delicate spider's legs. Yaviesel was frozen in place. What new nightmare could this creature be?  
  
"You have awakened, Oh child of Aiwendil," the tree creature spoke to her in a voice sounding of the soft whisper of the wind.  
  
Yaviesel blinked her eyes in a dazed amazement for a few minutes. The creature laughed playfully in delight at her gaped muzzle expression. "Safe you are here, young one. Rest your mind of cares my dear. You are in my house; in the elder forest of Fangorn" The creature quieted its laughter, but amusement clearly sparkled in its deep eyes. "The denizens of this wood know well of the brown clad bird-tamer. The birds of the world yet come to rest in our branches, and to repay our hospitality they, sing to us the news of the outer-world."  
  
Yaviesel politely sat down on her haunches in front of the talking tree, wrapping her fine bushy tail around her feet, however wariness still shone in her eyes. She learned her lesson of trusting others blindly from the harsh hands of that miserable son of an orc, Saruman the White.  
  
"You may know me either as Fladrif or Skinbark, as you please. I take from your surprise my young friend that you have never seen an Ent before, " the Birch like Ent told her as he took a funny little bow. Yaviesel made a giggle-like sound at the sight of a slender tree bowing to her, its leaf laden arms sweeping a salute that was very much like a courtier in a far away Kingdom's court.  
  
Yaviesel was about to attempt some kind of communication in return with this oh so odd creature, when the forest around her became absolutely still. The Rowans stopped their happy laughter. The stream even hushed its merry bubbling melody. A foul stench slowly wafted towards her, carried on the silent wail of the wind. Skinbark and Yaviesel both turned their heads to look towards the east. A small, fear-filled whine disturbed the silence as the small fox backed away from the threatening smell of rotting flesh, slime from the deep, and festering wounds. She would experience that stench in her nightmares for many years to come. Skinbark slowly moved to stand between her and the on coming danger. Yaviesel could now see movement through the trees in front of them. 'I am found!' she thought in desperation as she recognized the "S" in white on the helm of the approaching hideous creatures.  
  
"Run child!" the bristling birch exclaimed to her. Yaviesel hesitated with a whine of protest. She was growing rather tired of running whilst someone else fought her own battles. Skinbark half twisted back towards her with a kind and sad smile on his lips. He winked to her and said, "Do not worry for me little one, it will take more than a score of orcs to defeat old Fladrif. Go west over the mountain; there you will be in Dunland. I can help you no more than this. Fly now!" Then suddenly, he cried out in agony as an orc buried a crusted axe deep in his arm. He bashed the orc to the ground and five more threw themselves at him.  
  
Frozen by the violence in front of her eyes, Yaviesel did not notice the orc who suddenly snatch her up by the scruff of her neck. She yelped in startled pain and swung her head around, taking a nice bite of the filth- covered hand that held her so rudely. The orc squealed in pain as her sharp teeth drew deep blood from its scarred flesh. He grabbed his hand in pain and dropped the fox who took the opportunity to slip through the legs of another orc who, startled, accidentally decapitated the head of her captor.  
  
Yaviesel nimbly dodged the seeking hands of the orcs, finally noticing that the dreadful dragging length of chain was gone. Apparently Skinbark was able to remove that offending piece of iron at least. She finally broke free of the battle and ran west up the mountain without a glance behind her. She had to get her message to Lord Elrond in Rivendell; the future of Middle-Earth depended on it.  
  
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A/N: poor traumatized lil fox. She is a long ways from Rivendell indeed, still with that nasty iron collar biting into her poor tender neck. Tsk tsk.. whatever shall happen?  
  
Joy Joy! It took me a lil bit to realize how you came up with the Gimli connection. Shhhh… ( we donna want to spoil anything now do we? ;)  
  
Please Review my friends and keep my spirits uplifted! Thank ya kindly! 


	5. Chapter 4: Riddles

A/N: Please read and review, it means a lot to me! Thank you!  
  
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Chapter 4 Riddles  
  
  
  
Radagast returned not, as expected by Gandalf, to his home near Mirkwood. He had long since left his dwelling there to leave behind his memories of that once happy place. He now made his home among the great eagles in the Misty Mountains. Word had come to him by way of a small moth of a bruised figure in gray perched on top of the slender heights of the tower Orthanc.  
  
'It has begun,' he sighed to himself. 'Yet, there has been no word of my messenger, whom I sent to confer with Saruman at springs dawning. It is now summer's end; I fear the worst for my dear child.' Grief filled the depth of the wizard's soft brown eyes as he gazed across the beauty of the view around him. 'Why did I let her go so far from me; away from here where she was protected from the darkness that haunts the world?' He closed his eyes with a wry chuckle at the memory of the way her bright golden eyes flashed in the light of that accursed sun's dawning as she told him of her dream. 'A curse to my heart, that dream of hers was,' he thought to himself as he turned from the view from his simple window. His steps found him at the door to her room. Simple and pleasant to look upon it was. It held but a simple nest like bed with a mattress filled with the molted feathers of his friends the eagles and a light blanket cunningly woven of the same. It was made up neatly, just as she had left it that fate-filled morning when she left him on that journey she decided she would make for him. There was naught else in the room but the simple wooden chest that held clothes and a few other items of hers.  
  
Memories filled the forlorn traveler, memories of the sweet voice of his child pleading for another story before sleep claimed her, snuggled up against him. Memories of watching her sleep the night through cuddled safe and warm under her feather blanket with a small smile on her little lips. A sob choked from his throat as he threw himself down on the bed and clutched the fragrant blanket to him, the father cried out in his despair. Far away in a cold-dark forest, in a hollowed deadfall, a lonely fox wept tears for her home as night began to settle down over Middle-Earth.  
  
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Gandalf watched as the disgusting orcs returned to Isengard from the west. Ash-filled smoke billowed up in the late summers dawn from the mountainside in the wake of the orcs return. He peered down at them as they walked up the road to the tower Orthanc; they appeared to be very reluctant to return. The band of hesitant orcs stopped and pushed forward from their midst what had to be the orcish leader. The frightened orc ran forward and prostrated himself before Saruman, who waited with a stern visage on the steps leading into the tower. "M- Master!" the nervous orc stuttered up to White-clad sorcerer.  
  
"The fox, you odious slime! Where is the fox I sent you to fetch for me?" Saruman impatiently asked the cowering wretch at his feet.  
  
The obviously frightened orc leader turned and made a gesture to his company. An orc darted forward with a small cage in his trembling hands, passed it to his leader and then ran back to disappear into the crowd of orcs. The leader of the orcs lifted the cage to the wizard who smiled a small self-satisfied smile.  
  
Saruman opened the door to the small cage and reached into its confines. He drew his hand back with a snarled curse. The Wizard turned and glared the tittering orcs into a startled silence, and then reached back in and dragged out the poor terrified fox. He looked down upon the poor animal with a smile that spoke of his full satisfaction. Then a puzzled frown creased his brow as he examined the squirming vixen in his hands. "You fool!" the sorcerer exclaimed, turning his attention back to the orc who cowered at his feet. "This is the wrong fox, you imbecile!" The fox he held took the opportunity to bite his hand again, drawing blood from the tiny marks. Furious, the Istari cleanly broke her neck with a single twist of his hands. He flung the lifeless body at the orc at his feet. "Do you think I am simple?" he snarled to the cowed orc. "I told you quite clearly, the fox I seek has a mark in white on her forehead, in the shape of the evening star! I also told you of the iron collar around her neck!" In his fury he kicked at the terror-stricken orc.  
  
The orc looked up at the terrifying face of the angry Istari and swallowed in his nervousness, his eyes darting back and forth in a desperate attempt to find the words that would least anger his powerful master. "M- Master," the quivering creature stammered again, " she escaped us, she did!"  
  
Saruman reached down and grabbed up the pathetically shivering animal by the front of its filth-covered tunic. "She did what? You wretched cretin!" Saruman snarled in the orcs petrified face.  
  
"E- Escaped! Master, please forgive us! Please, please forgive us!" The putrid creature was practically weeping in his terror. Choruses of "Forgive us!" came from the gathered mob of terror stricken orcs. "She had help, she did master! The very trees fought us to allow her escape!"  
  
Saruman snarled in wordless fury; he pressed his hand to the forehead of the pitiful orc in his grasp. The creature cried out in agony as blackish blood began to stream from its eyes and ears. The Istari's eyes flashed in fury as he threw the lifeless body into the group of terrorized orcs. "Find me that fox!" Saruman commanded in a cold voice, then turned and walked, strangely calm after such fury, into the tower as the orcs scrambled to do his bidding.  
  
Gandalf watched the scene with some interest, wincing at the death of the defenseless fox. 'Of what importance to Saruman is that little fox that I freed?' Gandalf mused to himself as he watched the sun in its passage across the blue of the summer sky.  
  
The beauty of the Middle-Earth sunset had just begun its sorrowful melody when, in the distance, Gandalf could see a shadow in the sky. As the shadow neared he could discern the shape to be that of a large eagle winging its way to the tower. Gandalf nearly crowed in delight when he saw it was his old friend Gwaihir, the Windlord and the fastest of all the eagles. He lifted his arms and grasped the talons of the eagle as they carefully gripped his arms in a well-practiced maneuver. The eagle dropped a little in height with the added weight of Gandalf, yet soon his broad wing strokes lifted them far away from the cursed tower of Orthanc.  
  
Little was said between the Eagle and Gandalf as they flew towards the land of Rohan, for the eagle could not bear the weight of the Istari for too long. Gandalf needed to procure a land mount and the land of Rohan held the best that Middle-Earth could muster. Gandalf told the Eagle of Saruman's fall from grace, of his imprisonment until the Eagle came to free him. "Saw you anything unusual in your imprisonment in the tower of Saruman?" Gwaihir quietly asked.  
  
Gandalf pondered this strange question coming from the Lord of the Eagles. "Just one thing, my old friend, a little fox in a cage." The Eagle faltered in his flight for a moment at these words.  
  
"A fox you say? My old friend, know you what happened to her?" Gwaihir asked in a strangely neutral voice.  
  
'Her?!' Gandalf thought to himself in surprise. 'I did not speak of gender in my words; there is more to this fox than it originally seemed.' "Aye Gwaihir, to a point, my friend. I know that the fox escaped from the tower with my help. I know that Saruman sent orcs to the west to seek the creature and they returned with another in hopes of deceiving him of their failure. Other than this, I have no more knowledge."  
  
Gwaihir breathed deeply then at those words. 'She may yet live!' he thought with a relieved sigh. 'My precious daughter, I may see you again. I might yet be able to apologize for the wrong I did you that day.'  
  
"Gwaihir, Gwaihir!" Gandalf spoke up to the eagle above him. He had been trying to get the Windlord's attention for the past few minutes.  
  
"Hmm? I apologize, my friend, what did you say?" the Eagle responded.  
  
"Quite alright, I merely mentioned my curiosity regarding this fox. What can you tell me about this additional mystery?" he asked respectfully.  
  
The Windlord was quiet for quite a while before simply saying, "Her purpose will be revealed in due time, my friend. "  
  
Gandalf held his peace then, for even the most foolish knows not to antagonize an Eagle that could simply release your hands and allow you to plummet to your final rest. The rest of the flight to the Rohan was spent in respectful silence.  
  
"Calm wind to thy wings, my old friend! I will be heading to Rivendell next. All messages from Radagast can be sent there," Gandalf said, "Please let Radagast know all that has happened thus far, Gwaihir. "  
  
"Radagast knows, my friend. It will be as you requested, "the Eagle told Gandalf with an amused twinkle in his eyes at his friend's confusion. "Peace to your path." The Eagle took to wing then and flew back towards the north.  
  
'Riddles within riddles,' Gandalf mused to himself as he watched the Eagle slowly disappear into the clouds.  
  
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A/N: *chuckles* JoyJoy! Quite all right my friend. I have someone here who wishes to say something to you. (btw, I am so hoping you are a she *winks* forgive me if I am wrong in my assumption.)  
  
Radagast stepped forward out of the shadows and walked over to JoyJoy!. The wizard took up her hand and kissed her knuckles gently, amusement twinkling in his gentle eyes. "I apparently, my dear, owe you my heartfelt thanks. I would have had a much smaller part without your inspiration to my poor narrator " he told Joyjoy in his low voice. "Your wish is my command, my dear heart. What would you have of this old sorcerer?"  
  
( I am just so bad… ahh also JoyJoy! I do belive it means Autumn's Daughter. Yavie is Autumn (If I am remembering my research correctly.) and Sel means Daughter. I wanted a play on words off of my name and with Radagast. I thank you for your words on the name. It took me several days of searching to find the words.  
  
Thank ya all Kindly! 


	6. Chapter 5: Bruinen

A/N: Forgive the delay on this addition to my story. The rest of life apparently has little regard for my addiction with words. JoyJoy, I am indeed a Lady as well my friend. Everyone, thank you very much for the kind reviews. You honor me with your words.  
  
Chapter 5 Bruinen (Loudwater)  
  
  
  
Yaviesel looked down at the limp body of the young rabbit she had caught with a long-suffering sigh. 'I wish I had a bit of flame for this meal. I have never been one to enjoy the strong flavor of uncooked meat,' she thought to herself with a grimace of distaste as she bent to her task of eating. The tattered fox looked up from her poor prey to follow the passage of a flock of birds south with a gaze of intense longing. A throbbing hind leg came up instinctively to scratch at the constant burning itch that encircled her throat. With much effort, Yaviesel stopped herself from itching at the scabbed flesh under that torturous collar. She could smell the infection breeding there. Even if she could not smell it, she could feel the way the pain throbbed with each beat of her heart. Nights had become things to be suffered through, true sleep claiming her only when exhaustion overwhelmed her. Even her dreams lent her no solace from her suffering, filled with the dark images of armies of orcs following her, the memory of the torment she received at the hands of Saruman, and the image of a fiery lidless eye watching her every step.  
  
The little fox finished the first meal she had found in several days quickly, cleaning her muzzle with her tongue and paw. She was not not exactly certain where she was, nor was she aware of where her path was taking her. She simply felt this gentle pull leading her feet north; it was not merely north, for she tested this odd compulsion by heading towards the west and the pull brought her back to the northeast. Yaviesel yawned with the sleepy lassitude of one who has been well fed. She languidly stretched her worn body until a sharp pain in her right hip compelled her to stop. This wound was not healing well either; she licked the bite marks that marred her soft red fur. 'Damned fool wolf!' She thought bitterly, 'Stupid youngling, thought fox was part of his diet. The bastard tried to bite my tail off!' The weary fox shook her fur out and trotted with pain- filled steps towards the north as the sun began to set behind the trees to the west.  
  
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A cloaked figured watched curiously as the small figure limped through the dark forest night, heading inexorably north, towards the sound of rushing water ahead of her path. Then the clouds parted the obscuring veil that covered the buxom fullness of the moon. Cool silver light spilled down upon the rocky riverbank, clothing the fevered animal with an otherworldly glow. Ragged fur appeared smoothed, wounds blended into the shadows, masking them. The tiny creature's steps grew more and more hesitant as they drew her closer to that rushing body of water. Finally, her shaky legs lost all their strength and buckled. The light of life and hope slowly dimmed from those fevered golden eyes.  
  
  
  
Cautiously the hooded form stepped out into the moonlight. Guarded and careful, the figure made its way towards the still form of the fox. Slender hands gently smoothed tattered red fur, and felt the roll of ribs that lacked the cushion of flesh. A soft noise of dismay was uttered from under the hood. Soft fingers delicately touched the iron collar encircling Yaviesel's neck. Even while unconscious, she whimpered in pain at that gentle touch. Slowly the hands moved down to a sharp dagger sheathed at the figure's belt, and drew it out with hardly a sound. The cloaked one gently lifted the fox's head from the ground, exposing its throat. The eyes of the fox fluttered open to stare up at the form in shock; golden eyes locked onto startled azure. The fox's eyes quickly lost their clarity, but they delivered the message as clearly as if she spoke it: help me. Her eyes closed as the darkness overwhelmed her once again. Quickly, the figure sheathed its dagger and gathered the body of the fox up in its arms. Then the shadowy figure crossed the moonlit waters of the Bruinen, following the river northeast towards the home of Lord Elrond… Rivendell.  
  
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The Grey Pilgrim gazed at the silver fall of the waters of the river Bruinen, otherwise known as the Loudwater, with a deep soulful sigh. Road dust stained his robes and long beard a darker grey then was his accustomed state. Weariness clouded his eyes and weighed heavily on his drooping shoulders. The twinkling lights of Rivendell guided his path down the valley as he came to the fair home of Elrond at such a late hour. Respite from his long journey on the road was in the form of a waiting elf at the foot of the stairs, which lead up to the open entrance into the house. No words were spoken as the grave-eyed elf beckoned him to leave the road behind him for the hospitality of Lord Elrond's table. He showed the weary traveler to his long accustomed room in the house. There was a fire laid in the hearth to ward off the cool of the late autumn night. The soothing aroma of Athelas rose from a basin of heated water near the fire, wrapped around his tired frame, and lifted the weariness from his heart. The dusty wizard laid down his uniquely shaped hat on a chair, and with a small smile, he leaned his staff against the wall. Quickly, he made use of the water and then bade the elf waiting outside of his door to present him to Lord Elrond; there was much to be spoken of before any rest could be found.  
  
  
  
The Lord of Rivendell held counsel with the weary Mithrandir for many long hours. The rosy light of the newly dawning morning just began to shine when their counsel was broken by a disturbance. A cloaked figure came hurrying into the room in which they held conference. Lord Elrond stood up with a curious look to his eyes. Gandalf's lips parted around the long stem of the pipe he had been puffing on. Smoke curled out around him as his tired eyes spoke of curiosity with this strange interruption. The stranger had an odd bundle cradled within one slender arm as the other pushed back the shadowy hood to revel her fair visage. A lady elf she was indeed. Her hair was as dark as Lord Elrond's and with intricate braids it was held back from her delicately featured face.  
  
"Arwen! My dear heart, what news you do you bring that caused you to break my dire counsel with Mithrandir? " Elrond asked his daughter in the elven tongue, his eyes chiding her for the disturbance.  
  
"Father, forgive my intrusion. I hold one who most certainly will die without your care. This poor creature has been sorely abused. I would have brought peace to its plight, but something in its eyes stilled my hand in its course, " the lady spoke softly, yet urgently, in the elven tongue.  
  
The curious Istari watched these proceedings carefully from his shadowy chair near the hearth fire. He settled back as he saw the intruder for who she was. His eyes narrowed when he heard her words and he sat forward in his chair, his eyes locked onto the bundle she carried. He knew it was too small to be a hobbit, so that was rested in his thoughts at the moment. He watched as the lady pulled back her cloak from around the creature to reveal tattered red fur. The unconscious creature's head lulled in the crook of her leather-garbed arm.  
  
Gandalf shot up from his chair in surprise. It was a fox the lady held. Could it be the same fox he freed from the tower Orthanc and later spoke of to Gwaihir? He quickly approached the elves who were discussing the fox, and ignoring the question in their eyes, he gently moved the fox's head to show that yes… she wore an iron collar. The collar that his hurried spell had little effect on, as he recalled. He looked up into Lord Elrond's eyes with astonishment written across his face.  
  
"Elrond, you must do what ever is possible for this little creature. I know not why, but she is of great importance. It seems that this is the age when small beings direct the fate of all," Gandalf spoke gravely as his eyes moved to rest on the battered form of the small red fox. 


	7. Chapter 6: Rivendell

Chapter 6 Rivendell  
  
  
  
The smothering cold darkness that she floated upon slowly gave way to soft and soothing light. Gentle hands and voices chased away the hot edge of the endless pain that the darkness failed to keep at bay. Awareness came sharply as those once gentle hands touched the core of her agony, flaring it anew. Weakly she struggled, breath coming in great gasps. The touch disappeared from the collar to sooth her heaving sides. Blinking the tears of pain from her eyes, shaking with fright, Yaviesel looked around herself. First seen was a long beard and worried eyes that seemed to her to be scowling. To her pain blurred eyes it was as her former captor come again to inflict nameless torture upon her. Anger pushed her fear aside, her lips curled up into a snarl of fury. She would not be made twice the fool. She was determined to fight him for her freedom, a fight for her life.  
  
"Calm yourself little one, no harm shall befall you while you dwell within my house," a low melodious voice spoke in common speech.  
  
The startled fox twisted her head to follow the graceful lines of the hand that held her, up the finely clad arm, to the worried timeless grey eyes that watched her carefully. Her golden eyes blinked to clear the blurriness away and the handsome features of an elf came clear to her sight. Her jaw opened in astonishment at what her sight brought. Her head whipped around to look again on the figure that she thought was the figure from her nightmarish memories. Relief flooded her being. No, not Saruman, it was the one who freed her from that darkened trap. Her anger left her and the pain threatened to return to rush through her unheeded.  
  
Yaviesel closed her eyes and drew on the last of her waning strength. She turned in the warm embrace of the elven lords' hands to face him once again. For a long moment she studied his features, comparing them with what was described to her, 'Hearken my words child; the elves are the fair race, fair of hair and skin. There limbs long and their ears as your own. Of the elves there is one known as Lord Elrond Half-Elven. He and his own bear dark hair, which is more commonly found among the race of men. He dwells in a valley where the Bruinen flows down from the Misty Mountains. Yea, it is much north of our home here,' her father's words echoed through her thoughts. 'I know not if this one is the Lord Elrond my father bade me to seek out if what he feared had come to pass. I only have a single attempt to pass my tale while I have this accursed iron imbedded in my flesh. I must not be wrong, however, I have no other recourse it seems.'  
  
The fox moved slowly but surely out of the lord's hands. While she kept her eyes locked with his curious ones, she lifted her forelegs to rest softly upon his chest. She gazed deeply in his widening gray eyes. The soft gray clouds of his eyes encompassed her vision. Darkness surrounded them both as the deeper and deeper she delved. Then they were both standing upon a mountaintop above the misty clouds that floated lazily below. "Do not be startled or afraid, milord, we still stand within the halls of your home near the Bruinen." Yaviesel spoke in a delicate voice. "I have not much strength, so I will have to relate unto you what I need to as quickly as I can."  
  
She looked up at the startled elven lord with a sad amusement twinkling in her golden eyes. Instead of injured fox sitting before him, there stood a smallish lady. Her wild hair was the color of the fox's ruddy fur. Her ears, the same delicate points as he himself bore. Her height however was the most startling to him; she could be no taller than a child. Yet, she resembled neither a hobbit nor a dwarf in her delicately featured face. Her golden eyes, the same as the fox's however told the elf lord that this creature, while young, was not the elven child she so closely resembled. She was clad in leather and feathers. Confusion crossed his face at this most unusual turn of events. "My name is Yaviesel, milord, I am a messenger from Gwaihir, the Windlord," she spoke hesitantly as if she were uncertain of her words. "Would you be the Lord of Rivendell? Would you be Lord Elrond, Half-Elven?" her hands held fast to his as he moved to remove them. "Please, milord, we must keep the contact for this to last. I am losing strength rapidly," her eyes spoke of her desperation to deliver her message.  
  
"I am indeed he whom you speak of. I am Elrond," he spoke gravely. "What is this, child? What message do you deliver in such an uncanny method? " His eyes held much question and very little humor in their steely depths.  
  
"I do not have knowledge of what the one who stands near you has told you of certain events from the south lands. So I beg you to forgive me if I repeat any such understanding of which you have already had counsel, " with those words she released one of his hands and pointed to a forming dark cloud nearby. "Look, milord, see what words could not describe in accurate detail."  
  
Elrond looked where she pointed with her slender hand and his eyes widened in wonderment. The dark cloud formed a silvery round surface that reflected their forms before the image of the lands of the south from the air came into focus. It showed the deep dark and barren lands of Mordor, land of the Lord Sauron.  
  
"Evil stirs once again in the south, milord. The Dark Lord has been gathering his strength once more, " her voice quietly narrated as the image showed the scarred masses of the slaves of the Dark Hand. The image focused on the gates of the tower Barad-dûr as they opened to reveal nine riders in black speeding from the murky depths. "The nine ride once more from Barad-dûr, they seek and hunt by the will of their master," the little lady's voice trembled slightly as she spoke those words. "Milord, if those words were able to deliver despair unto your wise mind, these next words I dread to deliver unto you," her eyes grew grave and her words came as silently as the voice of the wind. "Isengard, fair Isengard, Stronghold of the wise council, has fallen unto darkness. Saruman, the White seeks power that is not his. The dark lord has grasped his mind with whispered thoughts. The White Hand has joined the Dark in an evil alliance. Night has fallen over lands where hope once laid. "  
  
Unbidden to the mirror of her thoughts came the images of her journey unto the valley of Nan Curunír, to the tower Orthanc. It showed her as she was now, delivering a message unto Saruman. All seemed well and she left to return from her task. Twilight fell over the forests near Isengard, and once within the safety of the trees she stopped, naively fearing no wrong. The lithe lady smiled up to the sky and reached her arms up to embrace the bright stars. Then the light of the moon seemed to shine from her skin, growing in intensity until it blinded the mirror. Then the light was gone; in her place stood a humble fox who seemed to smile up at the dancing night sky, the glow of the moon reflected from a small star shaped patch of fur from her brow. Before the merry vixen could set one step on her return journey, a net woven of dark fibers was cast over her. She was caught and was born back to Isengard by a host of foul orcs. The struggling fox was given over to the cruel hands of the one she thought to be a friend. Saruman held her fast as a glowing hot iron collar was placed against her neck searing the fur away with spikes that drove into her tender skin.  
  
"He named me spy and deceiver. He spoke that he would hold me there to keep my words from relating what I had seen. He put me in the cold iron to prevent me from taking my other shape. In troth, I thought he had gone quite mad until he showed me what he held," she spoke in a harden tone as the image moved to his throne room with a cloth covered pedestal in the center. "He has a stone milord, round as the moon, and near as fair. Long he held counsel with it, speaking in low tones. It replied to him it did, milord Elrond. It was a voice dark and as wicked as a starless night that still haunts my dreams in a vivid retelling; it spoke in a harsh language I could not understand." The images faded then from the mirror and the clouds misted away to rejoin their brethren.  
  
Yaviesel looked up into the eyes of Elrond, her eyes speaking of a deep heart felt weariness and confusion. "I know little of the world, milord, and I know less of what I have related to you. I have performed my given duty and my strength wanes truly. I long for rest and home. I curse the day I failed to heed the words my father gave me and followed that dream. Thank you for allowing me to speak to you thusly, milord," she told him with a weary smile. As Elrond opened his mouth to speak she released his other hand and the Misty Mountain top slowly faded away.  
  
  
  
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A/N: Well my friends, the story is beginning to show a definite shape. I thank my faithful reviewers for they feed my passion to continue this story. To my faithful readers who do not review, thank you for taking the time to read my humble story.  
  
Cheers! 


	8. Chapter 7: Release

Chapter 7 Release  
  
  
  
Yaviesel's strength suddenly died as the swirling mists rushed her into a black oblivion. Lord Elrond's awareness snapped from their link so abruptly that he flew back to land in a dazed heap. Explosions of stars and light clouded his vision as a frantic voice tried to penetrate the fierce ringing that coursed through his head. Concerned faces slowly swam into focus, but the dazed elf brushed off the helping hands. His blurred gaze locked onto the fox who lay lifelessly on the table. With an unconscious grace, he rose to his feet, a refined hand coming to his forehead as he winced slightly from the pain that radiated through his skull. Ignoring the anxious questioning of his daughter and the concerned look that Gandalf gave him, Elrond looked down on the small fox with amazed wonderment. Lightly he touched her still chest, seeking some sign of life. The elf's hope faded with each passing second, but unexpectedly, there was a weak heartbeat. Particularly slow was the rhythm, too slow for the fox's small body, yet there it was.  
  
Elrond spoke several quick commands in the fair speech to his daughter. The Lady Arwen nodded curtly to her father, then quickly turned to leave the room. As his daughter closed the door, he very gently ran a finger around the solid iron collar seeking a hinge or opening. When he found neither, he breathed a troubled sigh. Gandalf peered at the dark-haired elf with a puzzled glance, speaking unspoken questions.  
  
"Do you know of any craft that we could use to remove this metal from her without creating more harm?" Elrond finally asked the wizard without looking up from his task  
  
Gandalf approached the table and joined Elrond in his silent examination of the collar; neither looked up when the door opened once again. Arwen placed a basin of steaming water on the table along with a bowl of various herbs and plants among which included the scarcely known Kingsfoil. Elrond spared his daughter a brief smile of thanks, and then he broke up the herbs to steep in the water.  
  
Finally, after a few minutes, the silent Istari spoke quietly to Elrond, "My friend, this collar is some wickedness devised by Saruman the Traitor. It feeds off her energy to protect itself. I am astonished that it has not yet killed her with its voracious appetite. We need to remove it indeed, and fast. But no spell craft can aid us in this. Perhaps…"  
  
"What about strength? Could strength bend the collar to our will?" Arwen offered suddenly, interrupting the wizard's flow of thought. Gandalf turned his gaze to Arwen, and she lowered her eyes in apology, "forgive my interruption, Mithrandir."  
  
"It is quite alright my dear, your view is indeed valuable to us, " Gandalf soothed softly with a slight smile, then turned to gaze at the collar. "Strength…" he mused to himself, "Perhaps, indeed… Elrond, do you have any smiths available who might be able to add their counsel to our cause here?" the wizard asked thoughtfully.  
  
The Elven Lord looked up from his inspection of the collar to give thought to the Grey Pilgrim's question. His mind mused quietly for a few minutes before he finally offered in return, "We do have smiths in attendance, I believe. Indeed, dwarven smiths from the long skilled line of Durin. I have the honor to house under my roof Lord Glóin and his son Gimli. Perhaps their knowledge will help us find the solution to this puzzlement." Elrond then turned to his daughter, "Arwen, please ask the Dwarven Lord Glóin to attend us here." Arwen acknowledged her father and left the room once more.  
  
Elrond dipped a clean cloth into the now dark water, and then he began to clean the collar and the fur surrounding it, being careful not to touch the metal with his skin. Soon the door opened, and Arwen and two stout figures entered the room. Arwen closed the door behind her then went to stand beside her father; she took over his task of cleansing the collar when he turned to greet his guests.  
  
"Lord Glóin, and Gimli, I thank you for attending me here, my friends. We have need of your wisdom regarding metallurgy, and perhaps your strength," Elrond spoke as he gestured for them to approach the table.  
  
Gimli looked upon the table and observed the still form of the fox. His eyes locked on the glint of light reflected from collar. The dwarf walked towards the table as if drawn, ignoring the conversation between his father and Lord Elrond.  
  
"A Fox! My friend, you woke us to remove a collar from someone's dead pet?" the dwarf huffed, while glaring up at the grim faced elf.  
  
"My Lord Glóin, peace please. This is not a common creature, nor is the collar she bares. You must…"  
  
The words faded into the background as the young dwarf touched the metal of the collar in curiosity; he drew his hand back with a hiss of dismay. 'It bit me!' he thought to himself while examining his unmarked finger, 'Curious… nasty piece of witchery this is. Is this creature dead then?' Very gently he placed his thick-fingered hand along the fox's side, when he felt the slight beat of the fox's heart, he smiled slightly, then turned to his father. What he saw made the young dwarf roll his eyes in frustration, there was his father Glóin son of Gróin, waving a fist up at the tall Lord of Rivendell. Gimli sighed deeply to himself. He could not see Elrond's request as being unreasonable, even to have woke us up at this hour. The elf lord had been a most gracious host, serving mead and food without stint; the beds had been comfortable and the company entertaining.  
  
  
  
"Father, this is no ordinary piece of iron; it has some foul witchery about it," Gimli grumbled to his father while he grabbed at shaking fist to still its movements. He drew the scowling dwarf over to the table and pointed at the collar, " I know not how it was placed upon the creature's neck; see how there is no joint nor weld. Touch it but slightly." Glóin reached a finger to touch the collar slightly; he withdrew it quickly with a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "Look at the thinness of the iron, father. It would be simple to cut through it," the younger dwarf offered. At his father's thoughtful nod, Gimli left the room then returned with a strange leather roll tucked under his arm.  
  
"My Lady Arwen, please hold the fox as still as possible. I will try not to harm the wee thing," Gimli spoke in a low gruff voice as he unrolled the leather, revealing a line of metal working tools of various sizes and functions. Searching quickly, he pulled a strange looking apparatus out with a proud look on his face. Very carefully he positioned the large bladed scissor like device against her collar and began to squeeze the handles together. Just as the blades began to cut into the metal of the collar, Gimli was thrown violently back, his tool flying from his hand to smash into some intricate piece of elven artistry. A fierce jolt had flowed from the collar, up the metal of the tool, to his unprotected hands with a bright flash of incredibly white light. All sound in the room ceased except for the crackle of the wood burning in the fireplace and all eyes turned to the still smoking dwarf.  
  
Arwen hurried over to where Gimli lay in a daze against the wall. The stunned dwarf shook his head to clear the flashing lights from his vision. Grumbling curses in the dwarven tongue, he got back to his feet groaning. "Vile piece of sorcery, it will take more then that to stop a dwarf!" Gimli exclaimed proudly, and then in a display that left him rather embarrassed, he stumbled over his feet as he tried to make his way back over to the table. Determined to complete his task, Gimli grimly pushed his worried father from his path and looked down at the fox who was still breathing slightly. There was now a tiny cut in the metal of the collar. The young dwarf smoothed down the frayed hairs of his beard, and then took up the silk cleaning cloth. He wetted the silk in the water basin, then as gently as he could, he worked the fabric between the collar and the fox's neck. With all eyes riveted on him, he carefully worked his fingers under the cloth-covered collar. Gimli, son of Glóin, took a deep breath then slowly pried the cut in the collar wider. Though the veins in his forhead bulged out from his effort, his arms and hands did not shake one bit. Suddenly the collar gave a final metallic screech of protest then it was completely severed. Very gently, Gimli lifted the fox's head away from the collar, and then he threw the cursed thing to the ground. Blood poured from his fingers where the spikes had dug in past the silk.  
  
With a soft cry of alarm, Lady Arwen took up Gimli's hands and tended to the wounds quickly. Solemnly, Lord Glóin picked up the collar where his son had dropped it and carefully examined it. Gandalf and Elrond were both assessing the true extent of the fox's wounds now that the collar was removed. Elrond hissed in dismay at the sight of the scorched seeping wound. "This will leave a lasting scar," he murmured to Gandalf as he prepared a concentrated infusion of Athelas. "However…" looking up into Gandalf's worried eyes with a grim smile, "She will live." After both fox and dwarf were tended, Lord Elrond expressed his deepest gratitude to the young dwarf for his selfless service.  
  
"I can not abide to see the innocent suffer needlessly nor any free creature be held so," Gimli expressed with a tired yet prideful tone. " I did it out of duty to myself, however, if I might be so bold as to ask, why is this little creature so valuable that it would be bound in such a manner?"  
  
Lord Elrond looked over at the fox who was sleeping peacefully in a softly padded basket near the fire, and with a worried expression, he spoke softly, "She, my young friend, is a most important messenger." The dwarves gave the elven lord very puzzled looks, while Gandalf gazed at him inscrutably.  
  
The rest of the evening was held in quiet conversation around the crackling fire, with words of metals and the properties of silk cloth joining with the scent of pipe-weed wafting through the air.  
  
  
  
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A/N: Whew, I am so sorry that this chapter is delayed. I had to rewrite most of it due to characterization issues. I had a timid Arwen, an Overly Aggressive Glóin who was about to cleave Elrond with his axe, and a far to gentle Gimli (.  
  
Gelise, you have my thanks for your supportive words.  
  
JoyJoy! I love your continued support my friend. If you give me your email address, I can be sure to send you a message whenever I update my story. Though you pretty much can expect a new chapter every weekend at the latest.  
  
To all those who have read my tale thus far and kept your thoughts silent, I thank you deeply indeed for taking the time to read my words.  
  
CHEERS! 


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